


Jumpstart

by Fallowsthorn



Series: Polyamorous Work Crew [1]
Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Tron Kink Meme, Twincest, awkward sexual implications, low-level telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallowsthorn/pseuds/Fallowsthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Black Guard were created using elements of Tron's code.  Logically, it follows that Tron was there for it.  The rest of it all doesn't follow much logic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jumpstart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the Tron Kink Meme: http://tronkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4397.html?thread=3374637#t3374637
> 
> Mostly came about because of the OP's comment, "this is non-porny, but..." and my own reply, which was, "Don't worry; we can make anything porny if we try." It's only the third one of these that has any actual porn in it, though....

"Hey, Tron?"   
  
The question-as-a-greeting comes in faintly over the noise of the lightcycle, and Tron slows the subroutine's processor fractionally so he can hear what Flynn is saying. Something tells him he'll be derezzing the 'cycle in the next few microcycles, anyway.   
  
Sure enough, the next thing Flynn says, amid the wisps of static from the earpiece in Tron's helmet, is, "Can you come up here for a sec? I want to try something, and if it works, it'll make life a lot easier."   
  
Tron nods to himself, curious despite the fact that when Flynn says, "I want to try something," it sometimes doesn't go too well. He revs the lightcycle's engine and glances around the arena for Flynn, sliding up the curve of the wall so that the corners aren't as sharp.   
  
He spots Flynn near the side and middle of the arena, standing next to the elevator shafts and waving his arms to get Tron's attention. Tron angles towards him and increases in speed, ignoring the voice in his head that says this is a dumb idea.   
  
The dumb ideas are always the most fun.   
  
Grinning, he coils his muscles and waits tensely, judging the distance between him and Flynn by sight alone. He needs to be in just... the right... place... there!   
  
Tron breaks the baton halves away from their side grooves and shoves his feet down on the floor of the rapidly-derezzing 'cycle, adding upwards momentum to his forward speed. He lets the halves align and reconnect with each other, slipping the light baton into the holster on his leg as he dives into a forward roll. He throws his head forward just a bit farther, more than needed for a somersault like this, but it engages the catch on his helmet and retracts it.   
  
He comes out of the flip just in time to land in front of Flynn, one knee planted and one arm out to the side. It's a completely unnecessary maneuver.   
  
It's also glitching impressive, and Tron knows it. He looks up at Flynn, still grinning, cooling system kicking in at the exertion.   
  
Flynn shakes his head, but he's smiling faintly, too, so Tron grasps the hand Flynn offers him and lets the User haul him to his feet.   
  
"So, what's this thing you want to try?" he asks as he follows Flynn into one of the elevators. "And where's Clu?"   
  
It's unusual to see the User without his program; they're always debating, planning, trying to improve the Grid. Tron blinks as he realizes that he hasn't seen Clu for almost the entire millicycle Flynn's been here.   
  
"He's, ah," Flynn says, looking uncomfortable. "We... disagreed about some things. It's not important."   
  
Oh, yes, it is important, but Flynn isn't very likely to tell Tron what the matter is, even if he pushes. Tron drops it when the elevator draws level with the top floor and he sees what Flynn's been working on.   
  
Bodies litter the room, some slumped in chairs, others laying on the tables, more than a few simply stretched out on the floor. At first Tron thinks Flynn's brought a bunch of random programs up to the control room and put them all in standby for some reason, but then he looks again and sees that none of these program have circuit lines.   
  
Oh, they have armor all right, the standard attire for any program on the Grid, but it's a matte black all the way through. And it's not that their circuits are  _off,_  however in the network  _that_  could be. They're just... missing. Not there. Like derezzed programs that haven't, for whatever reason, fallen into pixels.   
  
It feels creepy, wrong, and Tron shivers involuntarily.   
  
Flynn doesn't notice, walking in front of Tron as he is. Instead, he says, "They're empty files. I want to make a Guard of programs, all antivirus and debugging, so that you don't have to be in fifteen places at once. And since you're the best fighter on here - which means the best security program," he adds, turning around, as if Tron didn't know his own job, "I figured I'd copy what worked."   
  
He tilts his head inquiringly at Tron, clearly asking some question. Tron has no idea what Flynn wants, and thinks that he should probably know what he's getting into before agreeing to it. He stares at Flynn until the latter blinks and sighs.   
  
"'What we have here is a failure to communicate,'" he says. He sounds like he's quoting something, but what, Tron has no idea. Flynn moves on before he can ask. "I want to copy-paste some of your code into these guys. Not all of it - one of you is enough-" He's smiling, though, so Tron doesn't take offense. "-but enough to give them your kind of fighting skills, plus some code I'll write to specialize them. Whaddaya say?"  
  
Tron blinks for a second, but he can't find anything obviously faulty with this reasoning.... It must be one of Flynn's better experimental ideas. He shrugs. "All right."   
  
Flynn beams at him. "Great! I need your disc."   
  
Tron unhooks it absently and hands it to Flynn, who pulls up Tron's code. Tron himself is occupied with examining the body nearest to him.   
  
Its face is half-covered by a tinted black visor, only its mouth visible. Tron glances briefly at its body - the lack of circuits still makes him uneasy, even though he knows what causes it - and thinks first that he should call the program "he" and second that that's not going to happen. It's not.... There's nothing in there. It's not a "he" yet. It's not even a program yet. Just a shell.   
  
"One down," Flynn says, and Tron snaps back into the running world. He must have been staring at the body for long enough to slip into standby; Flynn's evidently done coding, and scoots back from one of the Guard to kneel a few feet away instead.  That, and Tron's knees hurt a bit from staying in one position for too long.  
  
Flynn tosses Tron his disc back, underhand, and Tron catches it and docks it in one motion. He pauses to let it sync, satisfied that there are no major changes to his code (beyond his knees not hurting anymore), then walks over to kneel by Flynn.   
  
They both stare at the body for a microcycle or two, until Tron looks over at Flynn. "Well?" he asks. "What now?"   
  
Flynn shrugs. "How the hell do I know?" he says rhetorically. "I synced the thing's disc, it should compile automatically, right?"   
  
Tron spares a moment to feel gratified that he's not the only one having trouble referring to the bodies as actual programs. Then he frowns and says, "Usually it does... perhaps it's that you started and wrote these programs from in here?"   
  
Flynn frowns too. "But I wrote Clu from in here, remember? He was one of the first programs I tried that with. And I've written some other programs since then, like Jarvis." Jarvis, who has a meaningless name as far as Tron can tell, is the program who runs the laser's correction algorithms, in tandem with Yori.   
  
"Yes, but not like this." Tron gestures to the still, dark bodies around the room, then the one in front of them, which, he now notices, has circuits. Dead circuits, but still better than no circuits. "Maybe it has something to do with opening just an empty file, and then writing each program the way you do outside? Clu and the others just sort of... appeared."   
  
Flynn sighs. "Well, whatever it is, it doesn't tell me how to fix this. Looks like I'll just have to write them all the same way, then. Shame." He moves to disconnect the program's disc and wipe it out of existence.   
  
Tron puts a hand over Flynn's arm, and notes the way it crackles slightly. There's still energy built up from his stunt earlier, since he hasn't used much of it. "No, wait," he says. "I want to try something."   
  
He's not basing this off of anything particularly logical, except that the more energy a program has, the brighter his circuits are. Standby mode means dimmed circuits, doing stupid things in the Arena means bright circuits, and so theoretically, all the Guard needs is a shock of electricity, and Tron is able to provide that without it getting too awkward.   
  
Theoretically.   
  
A quick glance at Flynn's face shows than he hasn't reached anywhere near the same conclusion, but he moves further back anyway to let Tron close to the still figure. Tron takes a deep breath and resolutely does  _not_  look at Flynn. He rubs his arms against each other, trying to build up a charge, and surreptitiously drags a thumb across the "T" just below his throat, feeling his other circuits heat even under the fabric of the Gridsuits. He's breathing faster, unsteadily, he knows it, and he's probably glowing bright enough to erase all doubt in Flynn's mind about what Tron is doing.   
  
He stops when he can see threads of purple start to weave into his circuits. He doesn't need to overload for this, just build up enough excess that he won't go into standby immediately afterwards. Tron takes another deep breath, steeling himself, and then, before he can back off and try to hide from the inevitable awkwardness, shoves both hands down onto the program's chest, right over the two major circuits, and shunts all the static in his system to the Guard's.   
  
The Guard's body jumps at the sudden influx of energy, systems booting up for the first time, and Tron can't stop himself from shuddering and tensing at the sensation. He bites his lip against a moan and lets go of the Guard as soon as he can, gasping and panting for air. That had been a lot more intense than he'd thought it would be, and taken a lot more out of him. Tron thinks woozily that maybe he should have waited until overloading, awkwardness be deleted.   
  
The Guard sits upright from his half-slouch against a random pillow, and Tron can see his pupils dilate as the disc syncs up, properly this time. The programs' circuits glow faintly at first, and then more brightly as he wakes up and takes in his surroundings.   
  
Tron shakes his head until he's aware of what's going on again, and then asks the program, "Designation?"   
  
The program blinks at him, and for a second Tron thinks he's just some bit-brain, all flash and no computing. Then the Guard speaks in a clear but harsh voice that's unexpectedly like Tron's own. "Designation 'Reinforced Auto-Controlled Targeter'," he says, and Tron mentally turns that into a name.   
  
"React," Flynn muses, getting the same idea. "I like it." Turning to Tron, he adds, "He can do a lot of the same basic stuff you can, but he's really good at aiming. Stick him in a lightjet and you'll be gold."   
  
Tron's about to protest, saying that he's fine being blue and serving the Users, thanks, but Flynn overrides him with, "I mean he'll do well and you'll have a great fighter."   
  
Tron nods, and looks back to React, who is watching them with his head at an interested angle. Well, Tron assumes he's interested. The helmet obscures all but the most basic of expressions.   
  
Now that he's calmer, Tron can see why the program is looking at him a bit strangely. He can feel a sort of... presence in the back of his mind, hovering at the edges of his programming. It's not invasive, nor is it entirely unfamiliar – or entirely unwelcome - but it is new.   
  
React hums, experimenting, and Tron jumps when he realizes he can hear an echo. And yet not an echo. It comes from the presence in the back of his mind, one that Tron is quickly realizing must be linked to React, and it's like he's humming, too, following along in his head. Were it not for the presence, Tron would have assumed he the thoughts were simply his own, at least until the odd "coincidences" started piling up. This could be very useful, though. And also....   
  
Tron raises his right hand at the same time React raises his, and the presence in the back of his head increases when they're in exactly the same position. Tron raises an eyebrow at the blank mask, daring React to make the first move. Their hands drift closer together, and Tron can feel the presence humming, almost, pushing against his own programming, turning into a resonance when their hands are within a half-foot of each other.   
  
Tron can see React swallow and his lips thin into a line at the pressure of the resonance, and Tron wonders how much more in must be affecting him, new and unused to the environment as React is. Neither of them backs off, though. There's a harsh feeling in Tron's hand, racing up and down the circuits there, the static in both of their palms trying to bridge the gap.   
  
Tron isn't sure who breaks the stalemate - a word he'd learned from Flynn - and suddenly moves. Maybe it's both of them. But somehow they've gone from their hands hovering, silently daring each other to be the first, to gripping at each other's hand, meshing circuitry through cloth.   
  
Tron gasps sharply, eyes wide, and yanks his hand away from the other program's. Immediately, Flynn is there, asking, "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"   
  
"No," Tron says on instinct, and belatedly realizes, at Flynn's stunned expression, that React has said it, too, in perfect unison with Tron's timing and tone. Tron would accuse React of being a copy, but it would be too true to be an insult. And besides, the resonance is... warm. Happy. Amused, Tron thinks, and cocks an eyebrow at React. React tilts his head and smiles faintly.   
  
Flynn looks back and forth between them. He knows he's missed something. "Mind telling me what that was, then?"   
  
"U-uh," Tron stutters, because all of the awkwardness he'd been dreading in booting up React has now come to pass. He wonders vaguely if Flynn knows what his brightened circuits mean, and the purple-tinged ones on his hand. Tron sits there like some null-bit, tongue-tied, and React comes to the rescue.   
  
Well, the relative rescue, because what he says is, "It felt pleasant, and surprised us."   
  
Tron's face burns, purple retreating from his hand and rushing into his face, and he looks anywhere but at Flynn. Flynn looks, for his part, extremely confused. "But then why would you - oh.  _Oh._  Okay, I really, really don't want to know. Do what you like, but don't tell me," he says, and drops it.   
  
Tron looks up, surprised. He'd expected further awkwardness, at least, given Flynn's previous reactions. Odd. But he's not going to check a gift lightrunner's power level if he doesn't have to.   
  
" _Anyway,_ " Flynn says, which would be a much more impressive attempt at changing the subject if his voice didn't glitch in the middle of it. He continues regardless. "That worked out pretty well. Most of the time it took me to write you-" He nods at React. "-was picking out the right bits of Tron's code and figuring out what I wanted you to specialize in. Now that I have the code, all I need are the ideas, so it should take much less time."   
  
Tron nods in understanding. "Do you need either of us for anything?"   
  
Flynn shrugs. "Well, sometime, I'd like to find out what React can do, but that can wait until the rest of the Guard are up. Can you do your...?" He makes a motion with his hands that Tron realizes, after some scrutiny, is meant to be him shunting energy into the Guards' bodies. Tron nods again, in confirmation this time, and then is blindsided by a yawn as the sudden rush from touching React leaves his system.   
  
Flynn chuckles. "Okay. You get some sleep - you too," he adds, pointing at React, "and I'll wake you up when I'm done coding."   
  
Tron agrees to this on default; it feels like half of his brain is already in standby, and he recognizes the crash that he usually gets after overloading. He stands in a manner than Flynn will later describe to him as  _drunken_ , and drags React over to the soft chair/cushion/thing that Flynn has told him more than once the name of, but he doesn't really care right now.   
  
Tron slips into standby mode almost as soon as he lies down, and he doesn't feel React curling around him like some kind of giant cat. 

* * *

  
He feels it when he wakes up, though, and React shifting against him is enough to make his circuits flush purple. Tron pries himself up, determined to ignore the very happy -  _Users, that felt good_  - Guardsprogram trailing a circuit-lined finger down his back.   
  
Flynn raises both eyebrows, apparently deciding he needs to disappear, and waves a hand at the thirteen or so other programs around the room. All of them have dark circuitry lining them - subtly different, but with the same basic pattern each time. This is evidently enough of an explanation, because Flynn takes it as his cue to vanish down the elevator, leaving Tron and React alone.   
  
The resonance hums in the back of Tron's head, and he smiles slowly, pressing back into React, and more specifically, into React's hip nodes.   
  
Well.   
  
Copy what works, right?


End file.
